what matters and why

about her

We sat on the driveway in front of my house, burning old crayons onto a jar and believing it was a work of art. I didn't know her very well then. She talked a lot and I was quiet. She talked so much that night she ended up confessing that she'd been raped only a month before. She said it was horrible. I was skeptical of her, being so sexually active. I wondered if she invited it on herself, or if she was simply lying. I didn't know. She didn't cry and wasn't emotional. She simply told me the story. She hadn't had an easy life. I didn't know it then. I was jealous of her freedom. Her own phone line, her car, her mom's lack of supervision. How I wanted what she had. She told me that, and never brought it up again. We spent a lot of time together. We always managed to get in trouble. She would convince me to do things I didn't want to. Sometimes I didn't need convincing. She would call on the phone all the time. So much that I would make up excuses not to talk. She would go on and on forever about things that didn't matter. She was such a strange character. She craved attention, any kind. She wanted more from people than what they could offer. She could not find happiness. She was always in a hurry, always looking for a better place to be and better people to be with. She made it around town, and pretty soon there was nobody left for her. They'd all taken their turn and left. She was the saddest person I'd ever met. I wasn't always nice to her. I wondered why she made the choices she did, and couldn't talk her out of doing things that I knew she'd regret. She was always there, from the time we met when we were fifteen, and on through those three years of school. I would take part in making fun of her, thinking for some reason that her feelings didn't matter. And now, there is nothing left to say. Should I apologize for not being a good friend? What would I say anyway. Have I changed so much that there is not one thing we have in common? Like my sister in law blatantly told me, "you're boring." And those words won't go away. Not only that but she wonders why I am "perfect" and will ask if I ever do anything wrong. If only she knew. Was I a better person then when I said horrible things behind people's back, when I would make decisions based on my own selfish reasons, when I cared for no one but me? Now that I care, that I've made an effort to change something I didn't like, I find that people have nothing to say to me. I am boring. There is nothing about me that's exciting, nothing that would make someone want to have a conversation with me. No passion, no direction, just nothing. I can tell she won't call again. Not even now, when she lives right down the street. I was pretty sure that she didn't even want to talk when I called. Her voice had that tone in it, the one that says, "Oh, it's her" and I can picture eyes rolling to the top of her head. There was a time when I wanted to share this life with people in my past. I knew they'd get to where I am, get married and have children, and then, I thought, there would finally be something besides our past that we shared. That's not option now. Not for them. I don't want to care, but for some reason I do. I don't want it to matter that they don't bother to call, that they get together and avoid me like the plague. The conversation was a lot of work, it didn't come easy like it used. It was a big strain for her to act like she was interested in ever getting together. And would I really want to? It brings back such horrible memories. I wonder why she had to choose this side of town. I don't understand why it's so important to me for them to like me. I've moved on and have established other relationships with people who didn't know me then. I get along just fine. She wasn't even that close, not even then. She told all about herself, but rarely listened and always did her own thing. We had our share of disagreements and our share of good times together. I never really thought about her once she left. I didn't think she'd be back. She has such unresolved issues that I wonder if she will ever deal with. Or maybe she has. Maybe it's painful for her to remember also. Sometimes I think there is this big wall in front of me. So big that I don't even know where I am any more. I have put up a big front so everyone will think that I am okay. That I'm not a screw up.